


The Blonde Asshole And The Green Bastard

by Kuya



Category: One Piece
Genre: AU, Awkward awkward men, Bad Flirting, Foul Language, M/M, Support Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuya/pseuds/Kuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoro's being forced to attend a help group where he meets a certain blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story should in no way be taken as me looking down on or making light of support groups. I've been lucky enough to never really need one, so what's written here only reflects what little (and adequately horrible) experiences I have had. If that bothers you, please don't read.

This is bullshit. He doesn't need to be here. A complete waste of time is what this is, time he could spend getting stronger.

 

Support group sessions.

 

Zoro snorts.

 

There you go and save a guy and what do you get for your trouble? 'Stimulating discussions to express one's worries and soul'.

 

He should have just let that guy jump.

 

But as he's here and it isn't looking like he's about get out any time soon, he strolls into the room and to its center and dumps himself down onto the nearest vacant chair. Of fucking course the chairs are arranged in a circle. There are _posters_ plastered on the walls with catchy hard-liners like 'Where there is love, there is hope' and 'Don't jump– Triumph!'

 

He is in the middle of studying the nearest one of them ('Do not despair– Give yourself into care,' complete with miniature drawings of stick figures, flowers and rainbows), when a tall blonde saunters in like he owns the place. He meets Zoro's gaze levelly, smirking at him before _flipping him off_. What a fucking prick.

 

There are ample empty chairs, but no, Mr. Asshole falls into the chair next to Zoro's, sliding down until he's halfway down to the floor, probably thinking it looks _good_.

 

Zoro turns away demonstratively and closes his eyes, hoping that a nap will shorten the evening.

 

\--

 

Sanji's feeling bored, and they haven't even been going for half an hour. The course manager's a pretty, petite brunette with glasses, but she's proved resistant to his advances so far, and so he lets his gaze wander about the room, eyes landing on the green-haired alien seated next to him. He does a double take. Was this guy for real?

 

Now that he's paying attention to it, he can make out the soft snores and _the guy is fucking sleeping_.

 

Sanji kicks the leg of the other's chair, mildly surprised when sharp, pale eyes focus on him in three seconds flat.

 

_Interesting_.

 

He gives the green moss bastard an innocent grin coupled with a lazy hand gesture.

 

\--

 

"And now, before we go into specifics," that supervisor, Mrs. Tashigi or something, says, "Every one of you will introduce themselves and state the reason for their presence tonight and for the next three months."

 

Zoro glares at that stupid blonde, irritation rising another ten levels at the cocky grin and dismissive little wave he's given in return.

 

"What the fuck's your problem?" He hisses, keeping his voice low-key.

 

The smirk widens. "No way you're getting to sleep while I'm stuck listening. Besides, it's rude to ignore a lady."

 

Zoro stares at the other disbelievingly. "You some kind of moron?" He watches, satisfied, how blondie's grin falls. Blondie opens his mouth, but then it's his turn to make his introductions.

 

"Zoro," he grunts. "Saved a guy from jumping off the roof of my apartment complex."

 

Before that woman can instigate the ritual unison greeting, blondie speaks up, "What the hell were you doing up on the roof? And how on earth has that ended up with you getting stuck with help sessions?"

 

Zoro shoots him a dark glare. "I was going to my apartment, obviously. And that's what I want to know. They got it wrong, thinking I was going to jump too or something," he grumbles reluctantly.

 

Now it's blondie's turn to stare at him disbelievingly, quirking one ridiculously curly eyebrow. "Are you for real?" Zoro's face must speak for him because the next moment, the other bursts out laughing, almost falling off his chair.

 

Zoro decides that he hates the guy.

 

\--

 

Sanji wipes tears of laughter from his eyes as he watches 'Zoro' (what the fuck kind of name was that?) being chastised by their dear Mrs. Tashigi for his answer. When the lovely Mrs. Tashigi turns towards him expectantly, he coos, "The name's Sanji. I'm here through a recommendation from a lovely lady due to a small misunderstanding."

 

With his most charming smile he adds, "And I'm eternally grateful for it, since it's allowed me to meet a flower such as yourself!" He pays attention to keep eye contact with the lady as he leans forward seductively and–

 

"So you're a stalker."

 

Sanji feels his eyebrow tick. He turns around, donning a sneer. "You're wrong. That's something you must hear often."

 

"What's it, then?"

 

"A _misunderstanding_ , moss for brains. You know what that is?"

 

"You mean like your brow, curly?"

 

Yep, Sanji fucking hates this asshole.

 

\--

 

Zoro watches, fascinated, as blondie's face grows purple, a vein on his forehead popping out. He's in the middle of wondering if someone can burst from anger when the man surges forward and lunges for him.

 

He'll have to try harder than that to land a hit on Zoro, though. Zoro just blocks the kick with his upper arm, surprised when he actually has to strain his muscles to keep the defense up. Girly looks aside, that guy wasn't weak.

 

He feels his lips morph into a predatory grin and he's about to give the other a taste of his own strength when an outraged little cry bursts their little bubble of violence.

 

He looks around and notices that everyone's watching them with shocked expressions, especially that annoying woman, the one that has given the yell. Oh, maybe it's not the best of ideas to start a fight in a place that's meant to judge your mental state.

He turns to face blondie, grimacing when he sees the disgusting expression plastered onto the other man's face, spewing some shit about being sorry and inappropriate behavior in front of a 'delicate flower'.

 

"Pathetic," he murmurs, but keeps his voice down enough so only blondie can hear him. And blondie _does_ hear going by the funny little contortion his face does.

 

Zoro leans back, content for the moment. Maybe this won't be as boring as he'd thought, after all.

 

\--

 

It's not until session two that Zoro learns that blondie isn't a professional fighter but a cook.

 

"You're a cook? My condolences to the people who have to eat it," he says, ignoring any annoyed looks the other attendants send his way. If they don't like what he says, they can cover their ears for all he cares.

 

Curly snorts from where he's seated next to Zoro _again_. "Yeah, you'd shit yourself out of glee if you ever got to eat my food, shithead. And I'm not a cook I'm a chef. I don't warm up and stir in pre-cooked stuff."

 

Zoro shrugs. "Not likely, question. And: Narcissistic much?"

 

Blondie casually draws one shoulder up and lets it fall again. "I wouldn't be if I looked like you either."

 

Before Zoro can tell him exactly _how_ he wants to change the other's looks that noisy woman cuts in again.

 

During the break, Zoro strolls over to where blondie's standing out on the balcony, leaning back against the brick wall, a cigarette between his lips. He joins the other, enjoying the dirty look sent his way.

 

\--

 

Sanji draws the smoke into his lungs like a man drowning before slowly releasing it again in a huff. He tries to ignore the presence looming at his left side but eventually gives up and plucks the cigarette from his mouth to say, facing forward, "What do you want, marimo?"

 

"Annoy you," comes the immediate reply and Sanji's eye twitches. Points for honesty, he supposes. "You're being pretty successful," he admits, and the twitching intensifies when the damn green bastard fucking _smirks_ _and says_ , "I know."

 

He crushes the cigarette underneath the sole of his foot and, after a short moment of hesitation, reaches for another one. The silence stretches uncomfortably and he's contemplating just giving up on his delicious smoke break and going back inside when greenie speaks up,

 

"So, pretty damn boring here, huh?"

 

He finally looks at the moss head and _stares_ until the other man recoils a little. He's strangely satisfied at that. "You making _conversation_ , marimo?"

 

"What if I am?"

 

Sanji exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes on the cloudy sky. "Go do it somewhere else."

 

"Nah, nobody else to talk to that isn't either sleep inducing just by looking at them or got a few too many screws loose. As much as it pains me, you'll have to do."

 

Sanji suppresses a grin. No grinning at stupid marimo bastards.

 

"Good luck, then," he wishes but then ruins it by asking, "Did they really mistake you as being suicidal?"

 

Zoro's (if he remembers the name correctly) face screws up, pained. "Yeah. Caught me hanging halfway off the roof trying to drag the other guy back up."

 

He _does_ laugh this time. "Probably thought you were committing double-suicide or something," he chuckles and the other man fucking _blushes_ and Sanji almost chokes on his cigarette. He's about to add that he didn't mean as a _couple_ when he cottons onto the fact exactly _why_ the other is blushing.

 

_Who would have thought?_

 

He studies the other man sideways, letting his eyes rake up and down the other's body appreciatively. He's handsome; Sanji'll give him that. Straight facial features, big muscles, overbearing posture, a body that practically screams manliness.

 

He's the exact opposite of Sanji's type. Sanji likes his men tame, likes to be in charge– in and outside of the bedroom. Zoro, on the other hand, looks like the type to charge in without thinking, without the least bit of reservation and leaving no stone unturned.

 

He reaches for his next cigarette with slightly trembling fingers.

 

\--

 

Zoro's noticed that the blonde's checking him out and he's left standing there awkwardly. His sexual orientation isn't exactly a secret but he doesn't _flaunt_ it either, and to be checked out so openly makes him uncomfortable. Which means he's pissed off double as much when the other man suddenly wrinkles his nose.

 

"Got a problem, shit cook?" He provokes.

 

"Just wondering what you're compensating for with all that muscle," comes the smooth, unimpressed reply.

 

"I could ask you the same thing. What's with that get-up?" Really, _Zoro_ isn't the one wearing a three-piece suit plus matching tie to a support meeting they are being forced to attend, not to mention that ridiculous hair.

 

Blondie sighs dramatically. "It's called style. It's spelled S-T-Y-L-E. Add it to your vocabulary, you're in need of it, badly."

 

"Curled or natural, dart brow?"

 

"It must feel good to be inside your head. So much peace and quiet."

 

They are called inside for round two of the evening and Zoro reminds himself that strangling a person won't get those stupid psychology gurus off his back. It helps that blondie looks as pissed off as he feels.

 

\--

 

It's the sixth time he's been forced to attend this stupid help group. Six evenings of being bored to death by expressing-your-inner-tormentor shit and non-stop hurling insults at each other with the marimo, much to the displeasure of lovely Tashigi-chan and the other course attenders. The men Sanji could care less about but the ladies he'd prefer not to upset, but the moss head somehow manages to push all the wrong buttons within him.

 

And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't secretly enjoying their fights. Kinda. A little bit. It's _fun_ to push against Zoro, knowing he'll push back equally hard. He still hates the guy's guts, though.

 

Released for the evening, Sanji and the marimo make their way to the bus station, a habit they've fallen into after discovering that their way home leads to the same bus station, and both not exactly being opposed to keeping the arguing up for a bit longer.

 

"You going home to eat dinner?"

 

"Hn."

 

"You thought long and hard about that one, didn't you."

 

What was wrong with that damn moss ball that he couldn't even muster up a proper sentence when asked a clear question and what was wrong with him that he'd begun to be able to differentiate between the various grunts and hums.

 

Zoro grunts, annoyed. "What d'you want, shit cook?

 

Sanji ought not to, just for that, but he's already brought it with him. Thus, he thrusts the small package into the bastard's hands before he can change his mind and quickly lights himself a cigarette. "Food," he says simply when Zoro just looks at him, featherbrained. "Leftovers. I work at a restaurant, remember?"

 

The other man nods slowly and says, "Not sure I wanna eat something you cooked, though. I don't wanna get food poisoning; I've got work tomorrow."

 

Sanji taps the cigarette in his hands, watching the ash fall onto the concrete, and takes a deep breath. "Just eat it, dumbass. It's good."

 

When the marmio's only response to that is to eye the wrapped box in his hands suspiciously as if it might suddenly explode, Sanji's patience snaps and he kicks the ungrateful bastard in the head. It only ends up pissing him off even more, though, since his kick gets blocked easily, moss head not even wincing at the contact.

 

Zoro shakes his leg off and flashes him a sharp smile. "Thanks," he says and with that, he gets on the bus that has pulled to a stop beside them, leaving behind a completely speechless Sanji.

 

\--

 

Over the last week, he's learned that Zoro is twenty-two, works at a garage, and spends all his free time practicing martial arts. For which he apparently uses three swords, two in his hands and one between his damn _teeth_. Who even _does_ something like that? When Sanji's demanded he show evidence, that damn plant's told him with a shit-eating grin that he has yet to have the same with Sanji's cooking.

 

Now he has, and Sanji wants to see Zoro fight, damnit. He doesn't understand himself why he wants it this much, he just does. It could have something to do with the fact that it has been a long time since he's met someone who could match him in a fight, something he suspects Zoro is capable of.

 

That's what he blames it on when, on evening seven, he blurts out, "Fight me."

 

The marimo, dangling the plastic container Sanji's handed him earlier that evening in front of his eyes, empty, merely cocks a brow. "Why should I?"

 

Sanji snags the container, shrugging smoothly. "'Cause I'm good. I can smash your sorry ass into the ground, and I want to, very badly."

 

"You can't beat me, curly."

 

He surges forward in lieu of an answer, pulling his leg up and bringing it down on Zoro, who only just manages to put his arm up. He smirks, his face inches from the marimo's. "Still so sure about that, shitty swordsman?"

 

He watches as a feral grin spreads across Zoro's face. He brushes Sanji off and turns his back on him to walk back inside where Tashigi-chan has called for them to sit down, announcing that they are starting.

 

"Back alley, after this."

 

Sanji smiles.

 

He follows the marimo inside, taking a few quick steps to catch up to the other and grab him by the back of his shirt, tugging the man to the far side of the room. "Here, have a seat by the window. We wouldn't want the marimo shriveling up, now would we."

 

\--

 

Zoro lowers his stance, distributing his weight more evenly, regaining his balance. He doesn't take his eyes off the cook, following the man's every movement with his eyes.

 

The only warning he gets is a slight tensing of shoulders and thighs before blondie darts forward again.

 

He takes a quick step backwards, effectively evading the attack and at the same time going in for one himself, only to have the blonde dance to the side before flipping upside down. The guy's so damn _slippery_.

 

From his position, Zoro expects the cook to move backwards, bring himself into an upright position again. All the more surprised he is when the other begins to rotate his legs. Only an instinctual dodge saves him from getting his head kicked in when he's distracted for a fraction of a second, but damn if the cook's fighting doesn't look like he's fucking _dancing_. He's all slick lines and fluent movements, liquid muscles promising death at contact.

 

Zoro's already breathing hard, pushed more than he's been in a long, long time, and even if he isn't fighting with his swords right now, he feels the adrenaline thrumming through his system and he knows that there's a maniac grin on his face.

 

He doesn't bother with trying to hide it– his opponent's wearing the exact same expression.

 

They've been going at it for half an hour already, but Zoro's nowhere near finished. His grin widens even more when it becomes clear that the blonde isn't either.

 

\--

 

Sanji jumps back, landing on one leg, the other one extended above his head. He uses the momentum to spin and launch a counter attack in one fluid motion. Zoro's eyes are _burning_ as he fends Sanji off once again.

 

The relatively small valley doesn't give him the motility he usually prefers to have in a fight, but he makes do with what little space he has and moves into his next strike, fucking _giddy_ when the marimo catches him on his feint and actually manages to grab him by the leg, bringing him off balance. The only thing that keeps him from crashing to the ground is his flexibility as he goes with the movement instead of fighting it and, once he's in Zoro's personal space, he brings his knee up right into the moss head's ribs.

 

He leaps backwards. "That makes eight," he purrs smugly.

 

The marimo grunts and Sanji isn't disappointed. The other man doesn't only keep standing but uses the minute moment of Sanji being distracted and gets him square on the cheek.

 

At the same time that he gets pinned to the ground, Sanji gets one foot up pressing threateningly into Zoro's solar plexus.

 

They stay in that position, both breathing heavily and grinning at each other. The marimo's the first to speak. "Quits?"

 

Sanji presses his foot down a little harder. "Getting tired, shitty swordsman?"

 

The marimo snorts. "No, asshole, I still need to be some place after this. Believe it or not, I've got a life."

 

The 'which you are no part of' hangs heavily in the air and it hits Sanji like a gong that that's something he minds. Apparently somewhere between trading insults and kicking the shit out of each other, he's begun to _care_ for the moss ball. Well, shit.

 

"Cat got your tongue, shit cook?" Zoro's watching him curiously, still that half-smile on his lips.

 

"Just a moment of quiet to pay my respects to the people who manage to endure you on a daily basis," he quips, a smile of his own curving the corners of his mouth upwards.

 

"Yeah, not sure who's enduring who there. You've never met Luffy." The marimo shakes his head, the fondness in his voice belying his exasperated expression. He finally gets off Sanji, surprisingly extending a hand to where Sanji's still sitting on cold stone.

 

He swallows and takes the hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "Your boyfriend?" He asks conversationally, definitively _not_ holding his breath when Zoro gives a surprised little laugh.

 

"Yeah, no. No way. That's just all kinds of wrong." The marimo lets go of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Known him since way back; went to school together." He gives Sanji another sharp grin. "He's stronger than I am, you'd like him."

 

Before Sanji can say something stupid like that he'd like to meet the other, Zoro continues with a snort, "And he'd sure as hell like you. Fucking glutton."

 

Sanji pulls up a grin. "Everyone does. I'm just that likable."

 

"Yeah. I don't."

 

"You're not a person, you're a plant. That doesn't count."

 

"A man with a dartboard for a brow doesn't have a leg to stand on."

 

Sanji hates him so badly. He tells Zoro as much.

 

"The feeling's mutual, curly. But–" the moss leans in closer "–I don't think that's actually true. Or do you feed everyone you hate?"

 

The words are murmured directly into his ear and Sanji can't quite suppress the shudder that runs through him. He gifts the other with his most scathing look and hisses, "Fuck you."

 

Zoro raises an eyebrow, expression mocking, "That an offer, shit cook?"

 

And oh _now_ Sanji's gained ground again. He takes a quick step forward. "If you want it to be," he purrs in his best seductive voice, watching with amusement as the marimo turns pink around the ears. He writes his frantic heartbeat off as a delayed effect of the earlier physical exertion.

 

"Don't be stupid," the moss head mutters, turning away from him and starting to walk in direction of the bus stop.

 

Sanji follows, grin still wide. "I'm not. And apropos feeding, look me in the eye and tell me that it wasn't the best goddamn thing you've ever eaten."

 

\--

 

Zoro looks the other square in the eye and says slowly, word for word, "It. Wasn't." 

 

The cook's face is absolutely worth the lie.

 

\--

 

"What's that?"

 

Sanji exhales a cloud of smoke, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep them from freezing off in the cold mid-November air. He _needs_ his hands. "Food."

 

"Yeah, I can see that, asshole. I mean, why's there food _again_?"

 

He reclines his body a little, enough that he can inspect the sky. Shit, it was probably going to snow soon. Aloud he drawls, "You need to work on your wording. It's bad enough that your hair's distracting people so you gotta be more clear about what you say."

 

"Why. Is. There. Food."

 

"Try not to think too hard. Stress is bad for plant growth."

 

Zoro looks ready for murder. " _Why_ –"

 

"It's just leftovers, dipshit," Sanji cuts him off. A lie. "Just fucking take them, won't you."

 

Sanji's decided. He's going to get that shitty excuse for a human being to admit that his food's nothing short of _perfection_ , and if he dies trying. And he has until Christmas to do so, by when they'll be released from these daily introspection sessions.

 

\--

 

Two weeks later, slowly dying's exactly what he feels he's doing. Every damn day, he's given the marimo something to eat and every damn day, the other's eaten it to the last fucking bite before telling him it tasted 'okay'. Fucking _okay_. What a fucking joke. Sanji's food didn't taste _okay_ , his food was fucking _delicious_ and the marimo just _wouldn't fucking admit it_.

 

First, he'd thought that Zoro's taste buds might just still be covered with all the crap he had to be eating the rest of the day, now he's beginning to doubt that the moss head even _has_ taste buds, his inner cook silently weeping.

 

Today, he merely mutely pushes the reusable plastic container he's privately labeled as the marimo's into the other's hands and heads into the building, not up for their usual ritual. He ignores the surprised stare he feels on his back, following him all the way inside.

 

\--

 

Zoro stares at the retreating blonde, slightly baffled. No cocky smirk, no smart-ass quip about greens for human greens?

 

In the end shrugging it off as one of the cook's moods, he brings his attention back to the small box he's holding and lifts the lid off, curious to what he's been given today. Sakura mochi with a side dish of fruit salad. As expected, it looks like fucking art rather than something he'd put in his mouth. The fruit's cut into _shapes_ , for God's sake.

 

It's something he doesn't have any illusions of every understanding. Who cares what it looks like as long it tastes good? Because everything the blonde's given him has so far, even the sweet stuff. Not that he's about to tell the cook that it's the best he's ever eaten in his life because the other's ego's big enough as it is and also, if he did, the cook might just _stop_ , and Zoro isn't prepared to risk that.

 

He finishes every bite before making his way inside.

 

He hands the empty box back, receiving a tiredly raised brow in return. "Why do you always finish all of it as soon as I give it to you? Ever heard of economizing?"

 

Zoro frowns. "Why should I?"

 

The blonde closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples. "You're right."

 

Zoro's frown deepens. Since when does the other admit he's right at _anything_? "You okay?" He asks despite himself.

 

"Splendid," comes the flat reply and before Zoro's fist can connect with the other's jaw, that annoying woman calls for silence.

 

\--

 

As much as Sanji appreciates the presence of lovely Tashigi-chan, he could weep with relief when they're finally done for the day. Once he's bade her goodbye profusely, he labors himself to his feet– and wants to drop to the floor and groan like a whale.

 

He ignores that particular urge despite it getting stronger and stronger by the second and instead makes his way outside. He's taking a little break against the wall when he hears an all too familiar voice, the last one he wants to hear right now.

 

"Oi, what's wrong, shit cook?"

 

Sanji would kick him in the head if he thought he could take a step forward without hurling or breaking down sobbing. "What does it look like, dumbass?"

 

"Like you're being a poor, sick little boy."

 

Sanji hates him so much. "You're the worst person I know."

 

Zoro, the bastard just shrugs, not half as bothered as he ought to be.

 

"You plan on enjoying the view some more or are you actually gonna help, shithead?" He snaps, what little patience he has on a normal day already evaporated into thin air. He likes to think it's a side effect of Zoro's presence.

 

"What do we say when we want something from someone, curly brow?" The marimo bastard got a shit-eating grin on his face, but he moves closer anyway.

 

"Screw you," Sanji guesses.

 

"Wrong. Try again." Despite the other's words, a thick arms wraps around his waist.

 

"You're a shitty, shitty human being." Sanji lets go of the wall and shifts closer so most of his weight is resting on the moss ball.

 

"I thought I was a plant?"

 

He permits himself a relieved little sigh, feeling tremendously better now that he's not in danger of faceplanting any second in case his knees give out. "You are. You're somewhat hard to figure out."

 

He feels the marimo's gaze resting on him heavily. "What about me is?"

 

Sanji knows he'll probably regret saying this tomorrow, but his mind's kind of fuzzy right now, and it's hard to think with Zoro's warmth seeping through to him at where they're standing pressed together. " _Everything_ ," he says, and it comes out a little more breathless than could be taken casually.

 

There's a pause before Zoro shifts his hold on him a little and when he speaks, his voice has an urgent ring to it. " _Cook_."

 

The world fades to black.

 

\--

 

"You _fainted_." The shitty bastard looks at him disbelievingly from where they're apparently sitting on the floor, resting against the wall. Sanji blinks. They're still inside the building and going by the light coming in from the window, coating everything in a golden glow, a while has passed.

 

"Didn't," he argues, subtly shaking his head to get rid of the drowsiness.

 

The arm Sanji hadn't realized was still curled around his middle lowers. "What are you, a kid?"

 

Sanji doesn't feel like a kid. He feels like an eighty-year-old man with rheumatism. "If that'd annoy you, then yes," he answers truthfully and feels that the flat look Zoro sends his way is completely undeserved. The marimo's the one person he doesn't want to get that attitude from.

 

"Yeah, okay, I want to punch you in the face."

 

He blinks again in quick succession, trying to get his eyes to focus properly. "What's keeping you?"

 

"You're sick."

 

"Am not." The shitty moss gives him a _look_. "It's not that bad," he insists. And it wasn't. He could almost see clearly again.

 

"Okay, explain that to Mrs. Annoying tomorrow because she's kept bugging me, not leaving until I promised her I would stay with you until you woke up."

 

He sighs happily. "Ah, my beautiful mellorine!"

 

The shitty bastard flicks him in the forehead. "You sick in the head as well?"

 

Sanji glowers at him, resisting the urge to tuck his head between his knees to stop the world from spinning. "What do _you_ understand of women?" He snaps weakly.

 

"Not much, but definitively more than you do. Remember what got you here in the first place, shit cook?"

 

"Shut it, moss head." He finally gives up and buries his head into the marimo's shoulder.

 

\--

 

Zoro observes the man currently abusing his shoulder as a pillar and makes a decision. He grabs the other by his armpits and hoists them both into a standing position before pretty literally dragging the cook in direction of the exit.

 

"What do you think you're doing, shit head?"

 

"Getting you home. Unless you've got plans to camp here for the night," he shoots back, ignoring the resulting quiet grumbling.

 

They've made it halfway to the bus stop when the cook finds his voice again: "Let go of me, I can walk on my own!"

 

Zoro doesn't. "You can't," he tells the other plainly, only to be met with stubbornness. "I can, you jerk," the annoying blonde snaps and Zoro drops his hold on the blonde. "Suit yourself."

 

Predictably, the other immediately begins to sink to the ground, but Zoro waits until he's almost all the way down before snagging the cook by the shoulders. "Still want to walk on your own?"

 

They make it all the way to the bus stop this time, and after the cook's bus has pulled up beside them, he gets on it with the blonde.

 

"Oi, oi, don't just get on the damn bus with me!"

 

Zoro rolls his eyes and waves at the bus driver who's looking at them wearily. "And what else am I supposed to do, blondie? Your brain so small that you've already forgotten that you can't fucking stand on your own right now?"

 

The blonde ignores him for the whole of the bus ride aside from a clipped indication at which station they'd need to get off and Zoro most definitively doesn't spend it wondering what the cook's apartment looks like.

 

They get off the bus, Zoro supporting the other with an arm around his hips and the cook's arm slung around his shoulders. The blonde mutters something under his breath.

 

"What was that, shit cook?"

 

"This is fucking embarrassing," the blonde grinds out, staring miserably at his feet.

 

"Don't worry about it. You're whole existence is embarrassing," Zoro soothes.

 

The cook lets out a startled laugh. "You're horrible." Zoro hums noncommittally. "And you've got terrible taste," the blonde continues, still talking to his toes.

 

He adjusts his hold on the other where he'd begun to slip from his grasp. "And why's that?"

 

"You don't like my cooking." The blonde sags even more against him. "Everyone likes it." Then, almost inaudibly, "Except you, you shitty, ungrateful marimo bastard."

 

Maybe it's the quiet voice that does it or maybe it's the insecure look it the other's eyes, but Zoro says, "I like it."

 

He regrets it a little when the cook's head whips up, grin a mile wide. "Got you," he cackles, and then sort of inflates, leaning heavily into Zoro.

 

Zoro smooths a hand over the other's sweaty forehead. "See? Now you overdid it."

 

"The next left," comes the weak reply.

 

\--

 

Sanji's feeling fucking _dizzy_. His limbs hurt and merely keeping his head up is beginning to border on impossible. He might be stubborn, but he isn't stupid. He'll have to call in sick tomorrow. He _hates_ calling in sick, hates the way his old man will check in on him, will make him soup and will look at him with that glare that means he is _worried_ for Sanji, like he couldn't take care of himself, like he was fucking _five_.

 

A shudder wrecks him and he breaks out into a coughing fit, through which Zoro pats his back helpfully. Another thing Sanji hates: Being coddled. But he supposes that this time he's going to have to swallow his pride or he'll just embarrass himself further.

 

Thankfully at that moment, his apartment comes into view. " There it is," he croaks, voice that of the chain smoker he is.

 

He's hauled up the few steps to the door and, after a bit of fumbling with the key, he manages to unlock it. Zoro's unwound himself from Sanji somewhere along the way and is now watching him from a few steps away.

 

Sanji could _slice_ the awkward satiating the air around them. "Uh," he supplies, " Thanks. For getting me home. I guess." He shifts more of his weight onto his apartment's wall.

 

The marimo scrubs at the ground with his foot. "No problem," he grumbles, looking as uncomfortable as Sanji feels.

 

He hesitates. Was he supposed to invite the other in? Did he _want_ to? Would _Zoro_ want to?

 

The silence stretches with Sanji hovering awkwardly at the door and Zoro doing his very best to look unaffected, and in the end Sanji just chokes out a quick 'Bye' and bolts inside.

 

\--

 

Zoro lets his eyes wander about the room, bored out of his mind. He's known the blonde wouldn't be here today, not with how sick he'd been feeling yesterday, but the pang of disappointment in him is enough evidence that there'd still been a part of him that'd hoped the other'd show up against all odds.

 

For once, they get done with what's planned for the day in the prescribed time.

 

\--

 

"Did you miss me, marimo?" The cook taunts two days later, cigarette and a cocky smirk dangling from his lips.

 

"Yeah," Zoro admits, watching as the cook's eyes blow comically wide, almost dropping the cigarette. "I was pretty hungry the whole time," he explains, prepared for the kick that comes and dodging it. It leaves an imprint on the concrete wall. He grins. He _did_ miss this.

 

He holds his hand out, palm up.

 

The cooks stares at it irritably. "What?"

 

"Food," Zoro explains slowly, as if talking to a moron, which he was.

 

The cook turns a nice shade of red. "Don't just stretch out your hand like that! At least form a proper sentence, you Neanderthal!"

 

Zoro shrugs, unfazed. "Why? You'll give it to me anyway, right?"

 

"I really, really ought not to."

 

"But you will, right?"

 

The cook huffs, annoyed, but predictably reaches into his jacket, conjuring that familiar blue box.

 

Zoro catches it, pleased.

 

"Only since you 'like' my food so much."

 

In lieu of an answer, he starts shoveling the contents of the box into his mouth.

 

\--

 

Sanji watches as the marimo inhales his food. "You know," he says, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully as the marimo looks up. "You're kind of like a dog." He reaches out to rub Zoro behind the ear, grin stretching a little wider when the moss head doesn't pull away but very subtly leans into it. "There's a good marimo," he praises, scratching his nails lightly over the other's scalp.

 

He doesn't stop with the scratching until Zoro's done hoovering up the food and turns towards the building. He doesn't follow the movement and thus his hand slips from green hair as Zoro walks away and calls over one shoulder,

 

"Oh and cook? Sake next time too."

 

\--

 

Sanji's comfortable enough in his own skin to admit that he might be feeling a tad sad. It's been their last evening together as a help group, which means that starting tomorrow, he won't see lovely Tashigi-chan anymore on a daily basis since she's been steadfastly refusing to give him her number. He'll miss her so much.

 

And the marimo, maybe he'll miss the marimo as well, just the tiniest little bit.

 

But who can blame him? Over the course of the last few months, the other man has become a constant in his life like few things have so quickly. Their fights are fun and, if he's honest, quite heavily the reason he's begun to look forward to those annoying nightly sessions, and Zoro likes his food. That's almost, _almost_ enough to make the marimo tolerable.

 

He steals a covert glance at the man currently standing beside him, blissfully oblivious to Sanji's inner musings.

 

Who's he kidding. He'll miss Zoro dearly, because contradictory to what his mind keeps telling him, there's this small part of him that won't stop swooning whenever the marimo's gaze settles on him, giving him his undivided attention in that focused way only Zoro's capable of.

 

This is fucked up.

 

\--

 

Zoro feels the cook's eyes on him _again_ , but predictably, as soon as he catches the blonde's gaze, the other man quickly dodges. He grunts, irritated. "Oi, cook." He grabs the other by the chin, forcing the blonde to look him square in the eyes. "Don't avoid me."

 

Suddenly, the cook fucking _blushes_ , eyes dropping, though he doesn't fight Zoro's hold on him. Zoro did not expect that reaction. He _stares_ , watching as pink cheeks turn a deeper shade of red with every passing second.

 

Only when the cook's eyes widen a little, he realizes that he's subconsciously begun to lean forward.

 

He straightens again, frowns.

 

\--

 

Sanji's heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest. He doesn't need a mirror to know his face is the color of a tomato right now, his palms are sweating and his mouth is a little open, and he's feeling entirely too warm.

 

"You look like you're about to hurl."

 

And just like that, all the warm, fuzzy feelings are brutally murdered.

 

He fishes for a cigarette, hands steady again, shifting his weight to one leg. He lights the tobacco stick, inhales and exhales the smoke right into Zoro's face. "Was thinking of you, is all."

 

The part that was wounded by Zoro's comment watches the resulting coughing fit with deep satisfaction. "Bastard cook," Zoro wheezes when he can speak again and Sanji hums in vague agreement.

 

"C'mon, let's go," he suggests, ignoring the tears beading in the corners of the other's eyes, reminding himself that they are only a result of the heavy coughing, and begins to take long strides towards the bus stop.

 

He doesn't even try to suppress the relief when he sees his bus take off from afar. It's only bought him half an hour, but he'll take it. Then he snorts self-depreciatively. He shouldn't be standing here, feeling all relieved for missing a fucking bus, he should man up and just tell Zoro that he wants to see him again– support group or not.

 

He turns to Zoro, intent on doing just that when said man walks right into him.

 

He flails a little, feeling like a rock's walked into him, grabbing for the nearest thing which happens to be Zoro's shoulders. "Oi, marimo, can't watch where you walk?" He snaps when he's not in danger of toppling backwards anymore, desperately ignoring the way their bodies are being pressed together so snugly.

 

He makes the mistake to lift his eyes to glare into Zoro's while he talks and just like that, his mind goes blissfully blank. It's all he can do to not openly gape and it's only when the other man's gotten on his bus and he's left standing at the bus stop alone that his brain kicks in again and he registers the words whispered right into his ear.

 

"Bye, cook."

 

\--

 

Sanji feels tears burn hot behind his eyelids all the way back to his apartment, spending the ride staring into nothingness. By the time he's remembered how to unlock his front door, he's made up his mind and by the time he's sitting at his kitchen table, eating chicken Teryaki, he's formed a plan on how to track Zoro down.

 

It's not until he gets ready for bed that he finds the small scrap of paper in the front pocket of his trousers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first date and, uh, Sanji being a bastard.

"Oi, the lost marimo over there."

 

Zoro turns his head towards the voice, seeing the cook wave frantically at him from the other end of the café, grinning like an idiot.

 

He feels his mouth stretch into a grin of his own. It's been two weeks since the support group sessions have ended and it's the first time he's seen the other since. By the time the cook had finally gotten in contact with him a day ago, he'd been convinced that the blonde either hadn't found the paper with his number on it or that he'd read the signs wrong and the cook just wasn't interested.

 

But yesterday, he'd gotten a message from an unknown number,

 

_Tomorrow, 4 o'clock, the little café behind the station. Be late and I'll kick your ass._

 

His reply of _Do I look like I drink coffee?_ had been ignored.

 

He makes his way towards the table, losing sight of the cook a few times before dropping into the chair next to the still stupidly beaming blonde, trying to get comfortable in an environment he usually only found himself in when Nami had one of her fits and dragged him shopping while forcing him to carry all her bags, claiming they were too heavy for a small, delicate girl. His opinion that absolutely nothing about that woman is even remotely delicate is one he's wisely kept to himself until now.

 

His attention's brought back to the situation at hand by a kick to his shin. He glares at the blonde across the table. "Oi, what the hell was that for, shit cook?"

 

The cook doesn't look apologetic at all. "For being late, moss head. I told you, didn't I. Be late and you'll get your ass handed to you."

 

"I'm not late." And he isn't. He'd finished work at three and it doesn't take more than ten minutes to get to the station from there. He'd figured he’d pass the time until the cook's arrival by going through some meditation exercises, only to get surprised by the other already waiting for him. He must have come earlier than agreed.

 

Instead of an answer, the cook reaches over and grabs him by the cheek, turning his head towards the opposite wall and pointing at the wooden clock hanging there with his other hand and... Oh. It's four-thirty.

 

"You got lost, didn't you."

 

He shrugs, shaking the blonde's grip off. "If we'd met at the bar opposite the station, I would've been on time. It's your fault for picking a place that's hard to find."

 

"It's not! How is it my damn fault that you're a directionally challenged marimo? This place can be _seen_ from the station."

 

"It's small and the sign and decorations are all in brown. It's really easy to overlook."

 

"Not everything can be big and green."

 

A waitress walks up to them, ready to take their orders and interrupting his plans of ending the cook's life. He has no idea how he could have missed the man.

 

"Sake," he grunts when the servant girl looks at him expectantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, only to have the stupid blonde kick him _again_.

 

"Coffee. He meant coffee. He'll take a café au lait and the chocolate fondant." He glowers at the cook who ignores him completely, facing the servant girl with what he most likely thinks is a winning smile but actually makes him look like he's got constipation, and fucking _gushes_ , "I'll have the cappuccino and the strawberry cheesecake, if you would be so kind."

 

The cook having lost him after the word coffee, he pointedly _doesn't_ watch the blonde fawning over that woman. He'd put money on the fact that, if he had one, the cook'd be wagging his tail right about now. What a moron.

 

He stretches his feet out more comfortably and glowers at the table.

 

"I don't like sweets," he grunts once that girl's finally left, receiving a raised curly brow in return. The cook's food's one thing but he doesn't feel like eating anything from a place that looks like a fourteen year-old girl with issues has decorated it.

 

"Relax. You'll like it, trust me."

 

"Not sure I should. You've got terrible taste in locations." The tables and chairs are tolerably wooden, but the flower tapestry and the cupcake wallpaper just make him want to hurl.

 

"Shut it! It's really tasteful and the food's good as well. And you came here anyway."

 

"Yeah, remember you were the one who called me out?"

 

"Just because I couldn't bear the thought of some lovely lady having to settle with your dumb ass. Besides, just who was it that decided to keep in touch in the first place, hmm?"

 

"So you planning on settling down with me, cook? Moving pretty fast, aren't we."

 

The cook sputters, much to his joy, the bridge of his nose going a little pink. "I didn't mean it like that!"

 

He smirks. "Sure you didn't."

 

"You're the worst."

 

"Not being very convincing here." Because as he's spoken, the other's wrapped his fingers around Zoro's where he's had his hand lying on the table between them.

 

They're surprisingly warm. He squeezes them experimentally.

 

The fingers squeeze back. "Shaddup."

 

Their order arrives and he has to admit that, yeah, the cake's pretty good. The coffee's tolerable too, even if he'd rather had sake instead.

 

\--

 

Eating with his non-dominant hand isn't how Sanji usually enjoys his dessert, but somehow it's much preferable to the alternative right now. He glances at the green bastard sitting opposite him, noting contently that the other man seems to be enjoying himself as well. He'd been right to bring Zoro here, a decision he most definitively hadn't mulled over several dozen times since sending the marimo that text.

 

And that after he's been stubbornly convincing himself not to text the other for two weeks, to let him steam a little for what he'd put Sanji through. That Zoro hasn't been particularly reproachful has not made him feel any better about the whole thing.

 

He steals the marimo's last piece of cake in revenge.

 

Zoro scowls at him. "I still wanted to eat that, cook."

 

He makes a show of chewing and swallowing the bite before opening his eyes wide, looking at the moss head in mock shock. "Now you won't be able to grow into a tall, strong marimo. What have I done."

 

"You're hilarious, shit cook."

 

"It's a gift. Same as your hair. Though I guess you'd rather consider that to be a curse." Popping the last piece of cheesecake into his mouth, he contorts his upper body to reach his wallet. When he straightens back up, he doesn't miss the marimo's eyes on him. He grins smugly before downing the last of his coffee too. "Drink up, marimo. We're leaving."

 

To his satisfaction, Zoro obeys but frowns when he puts money on the table and grabs his coat. "Oi, I'm not some girl, curly brow."

 

He sighs exasperatedly. "I _know_ , moss head. I've got eyes and a brain, and contrary to a certain someone, I use them."

 

"Then don't treat me like one."

 

He sighs again. "I'm not. This is me treating you like a _date_ , dipshit." That finally shuts the marimo up and they make their way outside, Sanji taking Zoro's arm after his third random turn. This guy, seriously. That way, they make it to the door without any more incidents and they step outside, Sanji first, which is when something solid slams into him, dragging him to the ground.

 

"Oi, you fucker, your eyes just for show?" He snaps, rubbing his stinging knees and turning around to see which asshole had ruined his favorite suit. Said fucker doesn't even give him so much as an apology, though, and instead jumps back up before taking off as if stung by an adder. It's all he can do to remain sitting on the ground, staring, dumbfounded.

 

"What the fuck was that about?" He finally grumbles as he takes the marimo's outstretched hand and lets himself be pulled onto his feet. "Could've warned me, you know," he complains, subtly feeling his behind. He catches the mossy bastard's eyes follow his hands and keeps the action up for a bit longer than strictly necessary. It's not like he fell _that_ hard.

 

Zoro finally tears his eyes away and mutters something about having been distracted. The way he can't meet Sanji's eyes as he does makes him want to know really badly what had distracted the marimo to such an extent, but at that moment, there's a delicate, feminine cry.

 

"Thief! Stop the thief!"

 

He holds Zoro's gaze for about a second before they're taking up the chase. The marimo's stronger, but he's got the advantage in leg length, and he intends to use it.

 

They've made good ground when he realizes that Zoro's not behind him anymore and he groans, frustrated. He should have put a leash on that damn moss ball or something, but he doesn't have the time to turn around and go look for the bastard now, he has a damsel in distress to serve.

 

After another few minutes of running at full speed in the directions people are pointing him in– and what's with that thief being so damn fast– he hears some loud shouting and swearing that would put Sanji himself to shame. A moment later, he can see the man from before being suspended in the air by one arm... belonging to _Zoro_.

 

He jogs closer, not in a particular hurry anymore– Zoro won't let him escape. "How the fuck do you manage to get lost running in a _straight line_ , marimo?" He quips once he's positioned himself next to the moss head, lighting himself a cigarette, his weight resting on his non-dominant leg, just in case their little friend decides what looks like a hit square across the face isn't enough.

 

Zoro shrugs with one shoulder– the one that isn't still used to hold the other man above ground, because apparently the action isn't taxing for the marimo at all. Then again, he supposes the man has to have _some_ good point. "Got him before you did, didn't I."

 

"That was pure luck," He declares, irritated, as he inspects the thief, stepping around the other once he's found what he's looking for. He plucks the pink purse from where it's peeking out of the man's inner pocket, ignoring the profanities yelled in his direction for his efforts.

 

"You, dear asshole, are going to a place where you don't need to steal. A place that provides lifetime accommodations on recommendation, with bars in every room." He throws a provocative glance at the marimo. "Going by looks, you'll end up in there some day as well, moss head."

 

He revels in the dark glare he's given and waves at a sweet girl walking quickly in their direction with a police officer by her side. When he turns back around, Zoro's staring at the purse.

 

"What's wrong, marimo? The exterior of a woman's best friend too complex for you to bear?"

 

"It's ugly," the moss head replies, as if that's the most obvious thing.

 

Sanji's deeply offended on behalf of the lovely lady. "It's not ugly! It's very pretty!"

 

The damn marimo bastard looks at him as if _Sanji's_ the moron of them both. "Only if you're colorblind. Or ugly yourself. Then again, that fits you pretty well, huh."

 

"I don't want to hear that from someone who seems to possess no more than one shirt and no shower at all."

 

"What's wrong with white?"

 

"I'm just wondering why when clearly your soul's rotten."

 

"Keep talking, ugly."

 

"I want to kill you."

 

Which is, of course, the moment the lady and the police officer reach them, the latter looking between them awkwardly.

 

They hand over the purse and the thief without any more complications, Sanji steadfastly refusing to take any reward– he's just done his duty as a true gentleman, after all– and Zoro missing out on his part as well after a well-placed knee.

 

Before the thief's hauled off, though, that police officer throws evaluating glances at Zoro and him and Sanji smiles innocently. The smile slips into a grimace when the man, looking at Zoro, suggests they consider consulting professionals since there are always 'ways one can seek advice when things steer out of control.' He resists the urge to hit his head against a wall. He's pretty sure what's left of his sanity wouldn't survive another help group.

 

Instead, before Zoro can open his big mouth and ask exactly _what_ the other meant by that as Sanji just _knows_ he will, he waves quickly, flashing what he hopes counts as a grateful smile and drags the green bastard away by the back of his muffler.

 

\--

 

"Oi, stop that, cook." Zoro glares at the blonde. He does _not_ like being jerked around.

 

"Then fucking _behave_ , shithead," the cook snaps back, reaching for his cigarettes now that they're a safe distance away from his 'lady'.

 

He glowers. "I have no idea what the fuck that's supposed to mean. I haven't done a damn thing."

 

"But you _would_ have, that's the point. But don't worry about it, it's not your fault you were born with moss for brains."

 

He shakes his head, looking to where the cook's hand's wrapped around his. "You're crazy."

 

The blonde opens his mouth, probably to insult him again, when some passerby does the job for him, telling them to 'go die, fags'.

 

He turns around, seeing a six-foot tall guy, approximately his stature, smirking at them from where he's standing with what probably are his friends. When he looks back at the cook, the blonde's turned an interesting shade of blue.

 

He thinks the other is embarrassed for all of five seconds before the cook surges forward, landing a kick straight in the guy's forehead, adding a second one between his shoulder blades to keep him standing before any of the friends register what's happening.

 

He leans back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 

Once the friends awaken from their stupor and go for the cook, knives drawn, they're quickly taken out by a few equally flawless hits to their jaws before they can so much as land a hit on the cook. Only their offender is left standing after the first minute or so, and that's only because he's being kicked upright whenever he begins to sink to the ground, all the while the blonde's yelling murder at him.

 

Zoro, distantly aware of the tightening of his pants, observes the cook doing his best to kick the guy's face in. After a few more hits, he steps forward and catches the cook about the waist, dragging him backwards and off the pleading man. He doesn't feel like spending the rest of the day at the station because of the cook killing some weakling.

 

The blonde struggles at first, cursing at _him_ now, but eventually calms down. He lets go of the cook once the other stops kicking at his legs, watching the blonde light himself another cigarette and noticing the way he shelters the little flame with his palm carefully before sucking in a long drag.

 

"Thanks for the assist, asshole."

 

He eyes the blonde curiously. "I take it back. You're not crazy, you're fucking _nuts_."

 

The cook exhales loudly. "Says the one looking like he just won the damn lottery."

 

"Didn't say I didn't like it."

 

"Just who did you say was lunatic again?" The blonde flashes him a quick, lopsided smile and slips his freezing hand back into Zoro's. "C'mon, let's get out of here before I teach that fucker some more manners." The cook starts walking, throwing a last glance backwards to where the luckier men are seeing to their sobbing comrade, making them scurry with his gaze alone, and Zoro follows without resistance. He's pretty sure he'd follow the blonde about anywhere right now.

 

Until now, his male partners have either refused to hold hands in public at all or have been scared away by the first rude comment. The cook, though, the cook literally went at them kicking and screaming. It's... refreshing.

 

He only notices his thumb has taken to stroking along the back of the cook's hand when the blonde returns the favor.

 

"Oh hey, I know it's kind of forward and I wouldn't propose that to a lady but it's you so I don't really care: Wanna have dinner at my place? It's only a good five minutes from here and the sooner we get out of the public the better. I don't think I'll be able to hold back a second time."

 

He gives the blonde an approving look. "That was you _holding back_?"

 

\--

 

Sanji hums distractedly, sidetracked by the darkening of Zoro's eyes. "So, are you coming or what? My apartment's got large windows, running water, heating and air humidification. You'll thrive."

 

The marimo scoffs, eyes going back to normal. "How can I resist when you put it like that?"

 

He grins confidently. "You can't. That was the plan."

 

The walk to his apartment is quick and filled with silence. It's not cold, though, since neither of them makes a move to let go of the other's hand.

 

As he fumbles with the key to let them both inside, he can't help but think back on the first time he's had Zoro in this position. How very different things are now. He catches the marimo's gaze and he's convinced Zoro's being nostalgic too when the moss head opens his mouth and says,

 

"This time, warn me when you're about to keel over."

 

He's got such bad taste.

 

And he most definitively isn't about to tell that shitty plant that he's spent a good hour on the floor behind his front door that day before he could get his limbs to cooperate.

 

"If I do, I'll make sure to take you down with me," he promises instead. He finally unlocks the door, ushering Zoro inside before the freezing cold can make it in as well.

 

"Shoes on the rack, coat and muffler on that hook over there. _Don't_ just throw them on the floor. He ignores Zoro rolling his eyes and his mutter of, "Should've known you'd be a neat freak" in favor of moving towards his kitchen, contently noting that the marimo follows after having obeyed his instructions.

 

He undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, pushes his sleeves up, washes his hands thoroughly and dons his cooking wear before inspecting the contents of his fridge, reemerging with two armfuls of ingredients, perfectly matured. "Curry okay with you? Any allergies? Vegetarian or are you one of those carnivorous plants?"

 

Zoro looks _devastated_ at the prospect of vegetarian food and he laughs so hard he almost drops the food. "Got it," he grinds out between sniggers, "Carnivorous, then." He gestures to one of the high chairs at his kitchen island once his arms are free. "Have a seat, don't get back up, _don’t_ touch anything." He starts to pull out bowls and his selection of knives as soon as he's sure the moss ball won't get in his way.

 

"Watch and learn, marimo."

 

\--

 

Zoro watches the confident way the cook moves about the kitchen, opening drawers, conjuring up more pots, pans and utensils for one meal than he _owns_ , wielding the knives– well-kept, Zoro can tell– so effortlessly, deadly sharp tools traded between hands quicker than his eyes can follow, simple cutting and slicing looking more like art than anything he's ever seen.

 

The blonde talks while he works, explaining things as he goes, but Zoro's mostly too distracted to pay attention to the actual words. When the blonde isn't talking, he's mostly just humming to himself, something about the way he does convincing Zoro of the fact that he's not aware he's doing it.

 

"Dry the meat properly after washing before adding it to the oil or you'll end up with a mess," the cook comments as he does as he tells, "While the meat's browning, you start on the sauce. It's the most essential part of a curry so it has to be done with special care. You take the right kind of pan– this one, see how it's shaped?– and add the curry paste together with some oil. As for every other ingredient, you want to go for quality here."

 

Zoro isn't looking at the paste. He's looking at surprisingly muscular upper arms as they tense and relax while they twirl the small glass between long, slender fingers.

 

"I make my own." When his eyes meet the cook's, he sees that they're goddamn _shining_. "It's fucking delicious." He misses the cook's next sentence because of the other's bright, toothy smile. Then the cook turns back towards his stove.

 

"The paste has to roast gently since that's when the real flavor unfolds. You skip this step and you may as well eat cardboard. Or store bought sauce, which is the same really."

 

With the cook's back to him, his eyes fall onto the pale, exposed skin at the nape of the other's neck. He hums to show he's paying attention, which he's not.

 

\--

 

"After that, you're as good as finished." Zoro doesn't respond. Hasn't for a while now, he realizes. "Oi, moss brain can't keep up? Don't worry, I'm sure they've got the instructions written down for morons somewhere."

 

When the marimo surprisingly doesn't rise to that, he throws a glance over his shoulder, seeing Zoro watching him hungrily.

 

He swallows. It's _not_ the kind of hunger satisfied by curry.

 

He throws the empty rice package at Zoro's head. "Stop staring, perverted marimo."

 

The mossy bastard easily catches the bag, shrugging casually. "Just fascinated by that column on your head."

 

"It's a toque!"                 

 

"It looks stupid."

 

" _You're_ stupid."

 

"You argue like a seven-year-old."

 

"You're one to talk. And better than looking like a serial killer with styling issues." He turns the heat on low. Now it just had to simmer for a while and it'd be ready to be eaten.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zoro get up and advance slowly. He turns to face the marimo, finding himself drawing back as the other man approaches quietly until the edge of the counter pokes him in the hip, Zoro looming over him. The moss head pokes him in the hat.

 

He slaps the hand away indignantly, snapping, "Don't touch me with those filthy hands of yours while I'm preparing food!"

 

The moss ball frowns and steals his hat. He's forced to take a quick step away from dinner, not prepared to have any hair falling into it, before swiping a leg out for the bastard marimo who, unfortunately, is prepared for it and dodges easily. He scowls at the other. "Give that back, asshole."

 

Zoro, the shitty bastard, ignores Sanji, swirling his loot between his hands and pointing at Sanji's now hat-less forehead. "You hiding some kind of monstrosity under that curtain?"

 

"Nothing as abnormal as your hair, I assure you."

 

The marimo reaches out and since he can't move back any more without jeopardizing his food, he lets the asshole lift his bangs.

 

Zoro gives a surprised little sound. "Another dartboard."

 

He wants to claw that shitty moss' eyes out. Badly. The moment of distracting himself from doing just that, the marimo uses to fucking _take a used spoon and gobble up some of his curry_.

 

He steps up behind Zoro, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, smiling while leaning in and whispering into Zoro's ear, softly, "You ever sneak food again in _my_ kitchen using a _dirty_ utensil, I'll shove my foot so high up your ass you'll shit lung."

 

Zoro jolts under his hand, mumbling a quick, "Sorry," evidence quickly discarded in the sink.

 

Clever boy.

 

\--

 

The curry's delicious, even more so after cooking properly, and the shit cook fucking _knows_ it, if the gloating is any indication.

 

"Stop smirking at me."

 

The cook's face contorts into a sweet smile. "Would you rather I kick you instead?"

 

He snorts. "As if you could. Now stop. You're making the food taste bad."

 

"So it tastes good if I don't?"

 

"I didn't say that."

 

"But you implied it. That counts."

 

"Are you always this annoying?"

 

"Are you always this dumb?"

 

"Someone likes the sound of their own voice."

 

"If yours is the alternative? Oh hell, yes."

 

"I want to choke you."

 

The cook smirks _again_. "Maybe another time, marimo."

 

\--

 

Sanji chuckles, enjoying the floored look Zoro's giving him. He reaches across the table, placing his forefinger under the marimo's chin, _pushing_.

 

"Wouldn't want anything to fly in there, would we. You've probably already got enough things living in that weed of yours."

 

\--

 

He doesn't taste as much of the second half of his meal and it's when all the dishes have been washed– the cook washing up and he doing the drying– that the blonde announces they'll go upstairs next, 'star gazing'.

 

He snorts. "Which is why we're going upstairs. You planning on sitting in front of the window, nose pressed to the glass?"

 

"It must be hard on you, such a small brain. No space for imagination at all." The cook gives a lazy gesture, wine glass in hand. "Relax, you'll like it."

 

"Doubt it." Too sappy.

 

"I guess that's how you get by."

 

"You're a dick."

 

"Anytime, marimo." The cook glances around the kitchen, scrutinizing, before nodding contently. "Now, grab your wine–I can't believe this is already the third bottle– and follow me. No more questions."

 

True enough, the blonde leads them one floor up via a small wooden staircase.

 

"Your stairs creak like they're about to collapse."

 

"They're just bemoaning having to support your fat ass, something I can deeply sympathize with. I said no questions, moss brain."

 

"That wasn't a question, curly."

 

"Language lessons from a marimo. What has my world come to?"

 

"Less shit."

 

The cook glances at him over his shoulder. "So it's still shit, even with you in it?"

 

"Obviously. You're shit incarnate."

 

"Don't you start using big words on me."

 

Like the rest of the house safe for the kitchen, the first floor looks like the apartment of a college student, which, given the cook's age, makes sense. His own home doesn't look much different, if one ignores the mess that's Luffy's room. The only thing that doesn't fit in is a huge door disguised as a window, leading to an even bigger balcony.

 

"This," the cook points, "Is the reason I bought this shitty apartment, the kitchen aside anyways. Be ready to eat your words, marimo." They make their way outside and he looks up, forgetting the snide comment he'd been about to make.

 

The view's fantastic.

 

\--

 

Sanji eyes Zoro, leaning against the railing. This is where he brings the dates he's taken back home and it's never failed to impress. Going by the marimo's slightly awe-struck expression, it's worked this time too.

 

He slowly circles his wine in the glass, giving Zoro some time to take it all in before leading them over to the swinger chair. Usually, it's broad enough to comfortably fit his date and him but the marimo's a little bigger than his usual rendezvous– male or female– so they end up being pressed up against each other from thighs to shoulders. It's not uncomfortable, though.

 

The marimo's surprisingly soft and they spend the next few minutes in silence, swinging lightly, simply observing.

 

"I've never seen that many stars back at mine."

 

Sanji wonders what the marimo's home looks like. Does he possess a big kitchen? What color is his sofa and does he own a pet? He doesn't seem like the type but then again, one shouldn't judge a book by its green, mossy cover.

 

"Naturally," he says lazily, sliding his free hand into Zoro's. "In most areas, the lights are too bright even at night or there's smog all over." The marimo just hums but the fingers entangled with his tighten a little in agreement.

 

He feels... content. Here, this moment with Zoro, he doesn't get the urge to entertain his company, to make sure they were alright, that all their needs were seen to, all their wishes read from their lips. He can simply lean back and enjoy the taste of the excellent Sauvignon Blanc, the feeling of the pillow at his back, Zoro pressed up against him, Zoro's warmth, and the darkness surrounding them, only lit up by the billions of stars above their heads.

 

\--

 

Zoro watches the blonde slumped against his shoulder and snoring softly into his ear before turning back up to the sky and lifting his wine to his lips. It's good.

 

\--

 

Sanji blinks his eyes open, realizing he must have dozed off. How embarrassing. It couldn't even be ten and sleeping with a guest over for the first time, and all over them on top of that, Zoro must have been feeling so awkward.

 

He sits up properly and glances over nervously... and suppresses a smile. The marimo doesn't look uncomfortable at all. The marimo's out as well.

 

He fishes for the glass in Zoro's lax hand– the one that isn't still in his– and places both glasses– thankfully already having been emptied by the time they've nodded off– onto the stone floor next to the swinger chair. Next, he leans over, whispering into the marimo's ear,

 

"Oi, you shitty national treasure, wake up."

 

Said national treasure groans before looking at him blearily out of one eye from where he's leaning heavily against the far side of the chair.

 

"Th' hell y' want, shit cook?"

 

He raises an eyebrow suggestively. "I'm not done with you yet."

 

The marimo looks pretty awake in three seconds flat. He grins.

 

"Oh? What's next? Movie time? Some love comedy, pillow fight inclusive?"

 

He smashes his lips into Zoro's, pressing in until the marimo obediently opens his mouth with moan, which is when he licks inside, deepening the kiss into something downright _filthy_.

 

Once he's forced to break away for air, he murmurs, face so close to the other's that they're sharing the same breath, "I hear complaints?" In lieu of an answer, Zoro closes the gap and returns the favor, and he takes the marimo's face in both of his hands, tilting the other's head to get a better angle until Zoro tears away, gasping. "You don't do half-assed, do you."

 

He strokes down the marimo's cheek to his neck and back. "If you want a blushing virgin, you're gonna have to look elsewhere."

 

Zoro pulls him in again and he smirks against the marimo's lips, which, though slightly chapped, are surprisingly soft.

 

\--

 

He hadn't expected that. For the cook to have him pinned against the back of that weird chair, all but shoving his tongue down his throat. He makes an involuntary noise at the back of his throat.

 

"If I'd known that this is all it takes to shut you up, I'd have done this sooner," the cook mumbles, a little breathless.

 

"No talking," he agrees and makes sure that the blonde's mouth is otherwise occupied, satisfied when he feels the other melt into him. Then the cook fucking _bites_ him and he chokes back a groan.

 

He kind of loses track of time after that and suddenly– he's mouthing along the cook's jaw, trailing kisses down the side of the other's neck– a hand's placed square on his chest and _just won't budge_.

 

"That's enough, marimo."

 

He stares confusedly at the blonde who flashes him a wide smile. "You didn't _really_ think that it'd be this easy, did you? Gotta work a little harder than that."

 

He frowns, still holding onto the cook's sides. "Then what the fuck was all that about just now?"

 

The smile slips into a devious smirk. The blonde's _enjoying_ this. "Just a little teaser of what's to come." The cook pats his arm patronizingly before freeing himself from his arms and fucking getting out of the chair and _away from him_.

 

"I look forward to your hard work, marimo-kun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As happens with almost all fics I write, this one has developed a mind of its own, which means there will be at least one more part.
> 
> The line about 'lifetime accommodations' and 'bars in every room' unfortunately isn't mine but is taken from a t-shirt my brother persistently won't let me steal. That thing describes the 'Hotel Alcatraz' as offering 'lifetime accommodations', 'bars in every room', 'guaranteed room with a view' and 'drinks on the rocks'. I think there's more but that's what I know by heart.
> 
> Also, if anyone's interested, Sanji and Zoro have post time skip looks, but Zoro still wears the stuff he wore pre time skip safe for the haramaki since he's weird enough without it.

**Author's Note:**

> There'll be a sequel with some actual dating.


End file.
